The Last Time


I took a walk

through the woods

before the leaves fell

for the last time.

I heard them

glistening and shaking

getting ready

to fall.

It’s the season for it

after all.


I saw the light shining 

on the leaves of grass

getting ready 

to push soft spikes

in between the fallen,

saw the light 

shining 

through the trees

lighting up the white crosses

chalked on the trunks

crosses lined up

as in the fields of a cemetery

after that war to end wars.


Too many white crosses 

ready now

to mark the graves

of those about to fall.

It’s the season for it

after all.


It’s always the season for it,

we’ll wait forever for that last time.


https://poetrypacific.blogspot.com/2026/05/5-poems-by-lynn-white.html


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